


The Bear and The Dragon

by dciphoenix



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Assassins, Corporate Espionage, Corporations, Espionage, Established Relationship, F/M, Love, Modern Day Setting, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, Written before GOTS7, hah, only just
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12024513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dciphoenix/pseuds/dciphoenix
Summary: The Targaryens. A vast company in Essos. Daenerys’ father's company and his fathers before him. Her older brother, Viserys, was killed in suspicious circumstances. As was her husband. Now Jorah works in the shadows to unravel a web spun by their enemies, although their next target much closer to home than he originally thinks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I made a Playlist for this story
> 
> Rendevous - Scandroid  
> Enjoy the Silence - Trevor Something

“What about the Cessna?” Jorah Mormont turns his laptop around to face Daenerys, shifting his gaze from her mouth and her eyes and back again. There's no evidence of what she’s feeling, but he knows that her silence speaks many words. Pressing her lips together in concentration, she mulls over the Cessna plane, as she taps a few keys to view the various photos. It is small and red, with a tail and short wings, able to seat a pilot and three passengers. She pushes it back round to face him again. “No, I still want a boat.” 

“The lady wants a boat.” He taps a finger lightly against his chin and replies in a way that sounds like it is news to him, something he will have to mull over for many hours to come.

She gives him a roll of her eyes.  
“We need one that will be able to carry everyone. And safely. I do not like the look of that plane, but I'm not averse to flying. I think a boat would be better, it would be roomier and the journey would be made more pleasant,” she says. 

“And not to mention slower.” Silenced, face pinched, Daenerys looks back at her own laptop; the boardroom is closed to just the both of them, and the screens are activated to frost the glass for privacy. It happened frequently enough that anyone clever enough to turn a blind eye did so. Checking over a few more boats, she had started hit the keys with a little less enthusiasm. They try different websites, companies, anything. Daenerys crosses and uncrosses her legs, huffing out a breath. Unhappy, stymied that such a minuscule detail could derail their plans. Her plans.

A sudden snap of a laptop closing jolts her out of her thoughts and almost out of her skin. 

“Come on, there's no point in getting stressed over such trivial matters. Let's go to dinner, we can do this when we come back.” Annoyance creases her brow as he moves to take her hand. He closes the lid her laptop and it squeaks against the glass top as he pulls it away. She always hates having things half finished. 

“How about tonight instead?” She says. Keeping her eyes transfixed on his hand. Which he lowers a fraction before answering. Gods, she is always able to twist his arm. 

“ Or Monday. The sea will still be there next week, no matter what we do.” Daenerys smirks and takes his hand. She doesn't collect her coat on the way out towards the elevator, and neither does he, the weather is always a good twenty degrees in Meereen and no-one wears a coat unless it rains. Which is hardly ever. Amber sunlight emerges from all corners warms his face, once outside in the street, a light breeze whips gently at her beautiful hair. Meereen was not huge, yet the streets were always busy, and it usually took them ten minutes walk to find the high-end restaurant where she always takes her lunch. Jorah can never pronounce the name of it, always failing miserably when he does and being blessed with the rare sound of her laughter each time he fails.

It's dull inside, similar to the many pubs back in Westeros though more open in embracing the sunlight and fresh air. With added embroidered table clothes and leather-bound menus. Situated in the more wealthier area of town. One of the waiters, in a silken black waistcoat, crisp shirt and trousers ironed to oblivion with the same burgundy leather menus in hand comes over and seats them at a table for two, she orders for them in her native tongue. Daenerys asks him what he would like even though he always order the same thing, steak, rare with fries and a beer. On the other hand, she orders something that he can not even begin to understand. I'll have to ask her about it later on. The waiter asks if they'll be wanting table water while they prepare their food and drinks. Daenerys accepts.

They discuss how her employees are doing, she proudly reveals the new plans for the accommodation for employees who lived a fair distance away had gone ahead and where to begin building next month. It had taken a good few weeks for the plans to be passed and to find architects and engineers skilled enough. 

“I am planning to go out with Missandei when I have the next chance, it's been a long time since we've spent any time together. Away from work, that is.” She says, and he firmly knows that he also knows they haven't had a proper chance to talk in between business trips and finding suitable heads of business for companies in both Qarth and Yunkai. Usually, she sends him for a few weeks at a time and they Skype every other evening. “I might even take Grey Worm with me.”

Jorah raises his head from looking over the dessert menu, something akin to jealousy on his face. “Should I be worried?” He asks. 

“No more than usual.” Flippantly, she replies and takes a sip of the water. He does too. It's clean and fresh, one of the many reasons she frequently went there. Their food is swiftly served thereafter, and before tucking into his, she has a hearty helping of a thick, creamy coloured food accompanied with new potatoes, fresh green vegetables and a deep purple cabbage with raisins and sliced apple. “Would you like to try some?” She offers and she catches him looking.

He picks up his fork, about to dive in when she slaps it from his hand. She cuts off a piece, leans over and feeds him, just about stops himself from leaping out his chair. He finds it's a cooked chicken breast. There's a strong taste of mature cheese and hints of many different herbs, spices, and pepper. “It's good isn't it?” She always was right. 

After a five-minute drive from the town centre to where they live on the main street, on the wealthier side of town, situated overlooking the city and its many rooftops and the glass pyramid of Targaryan's Tower. Dusk had since taken the sky, since they ate it had become a burnt copper, edged with shades of indigo, casting long shadows of the trees and buildings against the ground the more the sun lowers into the horizon.

They return to her home, Daenerys escapes his side to her walk-in closet, throwing her handbag somewhere out of sights. Jorah collapses onto the foot of her bed, listening to her busy herself. Lifts one shoe onto his knee and undoes the ties and does the same with the other, he had forgotten how many times he had stressed how she should live in a house like him, with her own security detail, further away from the crowds. She told him she would rather live somewhere through love rather than fear and she had him whereas others did not. And who was he to argue? 

His breath sticks in his throat, his words, too. She appears, naked as the day she was born. Landing his gaze on her toned calves and thighs, and womanly hips, he slowly works his way up to her face. He tries to speak and ultimately fails. With no hesitation, she silences him the best way she could. Her lips are succulent against his own. Silently, he thanks the gods for allowing him to indulge in such a thing. He slides his hands into her hair, around her chin, down to her shoulders, wisps of pure platinum catch on his fingers. She takes it as an invitation to position herself upon his lap. Skims his palms over her skin like a man starved of touch, reaching the divot of her spine, drifting down to her rump. His body reacts to hers so near, and she suddenly stiffens, feels a ghost walk over his grave and breaks away. It breaks his spirit. He clears his throat and peers down. Close yet still, so far. “Still no?” 

“Would you stay even if we didn’t?” Her eyes are apologetic, sad even. Usually so faultless.

He pulls her near, it felt good to touch her. There were so few things in life as good as her. “Always.”

Jorah doesn't dream that night, too troubled for dreaming. Daenerys has sprawled on her side a few inches away from him, hair at all angles, when he removes his arm from around her waist, and slowly kisses her shoulder. Then a shoulder blade, not hard enough to wake her, and noses into her long hair. Inhales the scent of lilacs. With the grace of a cat, he slips from the bed, collects his clothes from the night before left by the bed, and shakes the creases out of them pulling them on almost silently. He would have to grab breakfast en route if he wanted to make it back for a shower and a change of clothes before work. Or even grab a coffee and get Missandei to go fetch something for him.

Tossing the black turtleneck over his head, and pulling it down over his stomach, Daenerys rouses, eyes tight and voice still rough from sleep. “You’re leaving me already?”

“Someone's got to salvage the mess we left the place in.” Being in charge and right hand of the company means not having to be wary of any backlash of such matters, Jorah turns his head to look at her. “It's eleven o'clock already.” 

Daenarys squints. “I thought you weren’t going in today.” She shifts her weight forwards, and the sheets fall away from her body though she ignores it and climbs from the bed. 

He chuckles lightly. “I have to do something keep my mind of you enjoying yourself tonight.” Toeing on his shoes one by one, through his clothes, he feels the warmth from the swell of her breasts, and the front of her body. Reaching to take his face in her small hands. Jorah catches her wrists when she leans in to press her lips to his.  
Instead, he kisses her knuckles. “You're too distracting, love. You’ve always been distracting.” He mutters and finally gives her the kiss she craved. 

He arrives back early enough, managing enough time for a quick shower and a change of clothes back at his place, and a bought breakfast from a nearby deli. Easily cuts through the main entranceway, filled the bodies of their staff, including Grey Worm in charge of security, and stationed there. His shaved, olive tanned head an immediate giveaway. Rumours had spread he was seeing Daenerys’ assistant Missandei for several months, but it wasn’t his place to spread idle chitchat. 

Offices of the higher personnel occupy the twenty-eighth floor. Riding the elevator on every turn, thumbing the button to light it. Arriving there, in the outer hallway, Missandei sits on guard where she always does, an oversized, black Bluetooth earpiece in one ear. Her hands on the keys and wireless mouse of her computer. Hair, wild and untamed matches her dark skin, chocolate brown two piece suit and bronze jewellery.

“Jorah, ser.” She grins. “Will Miss Targaryen be joining us today?” Jorah tells her a vague story as to the whereabouts of her friend and employer in case anyone urgently needs her, she nods in affirmation and smiles, returns to her work, content with his answer.

In his office, at the end of the hall, away from Daenerys’ own, he boots up the laptop, opens the IM and email service. The screen whites out, and a message loads before him with a tuneful chime. The sender had blocked his address and refused to sign it. ‘Are we still on for today?’ 

His lips thin typing back. ‘yes.’

Jorah awaits the reply, drums his fingers, and the computer chimes again.  
‘Does she suspect?’ 

His chest tightens, the weight on his shoulders digs down just a little bit deeper and he replies. ‘No.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our bear sinks further into the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I felt I should write the whole thing then publish, it like I did with my previous Game of Thrones story called 'Call Me' but I inadvertently created a monster.   
> Which got away from me and I got too excited and posted the first part anyway -__-
> 
> So, here's the next part.
> 
> I will Fail You - Demon Hunter  
> The Great Divide - Celldweller

Jorah drags himself out of his office and into his car. Black, the colour of midnight and sin. It takes him a few hours to get to the pre-arranged meeting point. Always in the same place, on the outside of town. In the more poorer area of Meereen, run down and derelict except for the odd hooker or homeless man. He turns off the gas and Jorah sighs, runs a tired hand down his face. 

Pulls out his phone and falters at the sight of his lock screen; it's a smiling picture of him and Daenerys taken less than a month ago, she’s throwing her arms around him as he snaps it. Jorah hisses out a curse and exits his car, slams the door, throwing his hands behind him to lock it and heads inside. Jorah loosens his tie, stuffs his hands in his pockets. Searches the ground for any footprints or tire tracks. The absence of which knots his stomach making him all the more uncomfortable. Like the uneasy calm before the coming storm. 

He stands where something would have been. Instead, many moons from now. The funding dried up perhaps, the development plan has gone wrong or the domino effect of the Targaryen company becoming bigger and better and leaving the others in the dust. Moss sprouts out of the cracks in the rancid walls instead of wallpaper, ancient puddles lay in the dips on the ground where flooring should have been.  
He walks around the cement skeleton for a building for five minutes, takes his phone out to check the time, runs a hand through his thinning blond hair. 

Jorah turns on his heel moves back the way he came. Eyes stunned and blinded for a second, before adjusting to the bright sunlight. Sat in the middle on his hood of his car, is a pudgy man, with a wiry brown beard and just as much hair on his head, only greasy and lank and tied back in a band from his rounded face. His brown eyes fixed on skinning a green apple with a slim penknife. “How long have you been sat there?” eventually, Jorah chokes out. 

The other man laughs, hard and loud, booming, though the joke is lost on Jorah. “Long enough. Long enough to see you make a fuckin’ fool out of yourself.” He continues laughing and continues skinning his green apple. He looks up from it, beady eyes on his. Stopping cutting up his apple, slashing his knife into its flesh so hard it sticks out the other side. “Does she know yet?”

Jorah pales shakes his head. The other man nods in affirmation. “Good. You’ll know what’ll happen when she does.” He swiftly removes the knife, juice runs down the apple moments before he takes a hefty bite. 

Jorah gets the message. 

He hurls himself back into his car and guns the engine to Daenerys’ apartment. Practically throws himself on her three seater couch, face down, his arms over his head. Gone from trying to make her life just a little bit better to breaking theirs beyond repair. Jorah turns over at there the scratching sound of a key in the front door's lock. 

Daenerys, frowning comes through the front door, a pretty clutch bag in hand. “Oh.” She says blinking slowly, Daenerys shuts the door, turning her face from him. “I thought you'd be home. Your home I mean.” 

“Stressful day, thought I'd find my favourite girl.” He says, raises his head, looks her over. Covering not much at all, she wears a supple strapless leather cocktail dress with a black zip up the front, peppered with golden, diamond-shaped embellishments, stopping just above her pale knees. Accompanied with no makeup on her face or jewellery, not like she needed it. Jorah settles deeper into the lull his heavy body creates in the sofa and beckons her over. 

“What are you doing back early?” she comes over, and he extends a hand, moves it up to shoulder feeling the hardness of her collarbone, moves around to her shoulder blade. Pulls her down to join him on the sofa, she submits to his silent will and bends her legs, fits herself in the crook of his arm. “You're not usually back till three am,” Jorah smirks. 

With a roll of her eyes, she lets that slide. “To be honest.” She pauses, looking down at him like a lion and her gazelle. “I was thinking about you.” Daenerys pauses and leans down to kiss him. Her sweet mouth feels like summer, wonderfully warm and gentle as he tastes the red wine on her lips.

“I can tell.” Chortles Jorah, pulling away. He tips his head back onto the armrest creating the perfect position to admire her in. Her hair falls forward of her sun-kissed face, and her lips are still wet and slightly reddened by his kisses and the wine. “You are perfect.” He drifts his hand down to her breasts and the zip to her dress snug in-between. The metal is in his fingers and brings it down agonisingly slow until it parts the dress at her thigh, and it falls from her body, unable to stay wrapped around her. Jorah sucks in a breath, she is not wearing anything under the dress.

Although, he should not be surprised by now; she wears absolutely fuck all in bed. She settles herself assertively over him, an unholy smile on her face. “What were you thinking about exactly?” He says softly, watching her face melt in bliss.

“I know we haven't… you know.” Solemnly, she replies. Yeah, he knows that usually, he grants her pleasure by using his fingers or tongue on her body instead of the usual method. Jorah places his hand over her belly and splays his fingers deliberately, as he searches her gaze. 

“Has it been long enough?” Since losing her child? Along with Drogo? 

Daenerys nods once, eyes on his and her face as hard as stone. She half smiles wistfully and looks away, cheeks reddening again. “I want you to take off your clothes.” She says.

He quietly undresses and tosses his clothes on the floor somewhere, no matter. Not when she stretches out her hands to touch him, taken by a brutal scar on his chest. Some idiot one night decided to get into a pissing match with Viserys, as his bodyguard he had the obligation to defend the older Targaryen. His attacker blessing him with a five-inch scar to remember him by. It is one of many, and one of many to hold a story as ugly as the scar itself. “You’re beautiful...” She says, patiently, rising to look at him and his heart swells. 

“That’s not something I’ve ever been called before.” Jorah replies. 

“Fine. You're handsome, then.” Daenerys replies, dismissively. She leans down again and kisses him, wet and messy, eagerly lapping open his mouth.

……..

 

He pushes his backside into the couch cushions, angling himself towards her belly button. She almost shouts and rights herself, tightening. Triumphant, he looks up at her, she bates his loving gaze with fire in her eyes. Pleasure resonating from her. And she comes like that, triggering him, enveloping him in something as sweet and forbidden the seven hells would be jealous of. Removing herself from him, she rolls herself to his side with a groan, boneless. “Will you stay? All night?” She asks, meekly. 

At that, the world comes floating back to his senses and he clears his throat. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” laughs Jorah.

And she asks, “Does it always feel like that?” 

Jorah doesn't fully understand for a second until it clicks for him, the wheels turning in his mind. That must be the first time she’s finished, then. “Since it’s up to me, it’ll always feel like that.”

He wakes the next morning to find Daenerys gone from his side, immediately missing the warmth. He scorns himself for being that selfish with her. Goosebumps break out across his skin he rises from the sofa, still nude and looks around for his clothes. Shrugs on his trousers when the light fails him. Jorah looks up, fails to find fault with the reason.

Daenerys stands at the high balcony, the railings level with her waist. Unclothed and unabashed. The light wind he feels gently tosses her hair over her shoulders. He moves closer, Jorah slides his hands around her sides and takes a hold of each breast. She gasps from that. Not from the cold. No goose skin prickled her skin like it does with his. She told him she never felt cold. Feels her ribcage expand as Daenerys exhales slowly, pushing herself into his hands. 

She liked to feel the wind and the world around her. “I'm going to shower. Do you wish to join me?” She half smiles. 

Jorah takes her hand, flattered. He places a kiss upon it. “Absolutely, go get yourself sorted. I'll be round in a moment.” 

Daenerys is pleased with his answer, passes him from the balcony into the bedroom and beyond. Jorah grumbles at the cold, regretting now putting on more clothes, steps back inside. Pulls back the handle on the glass balcony door and closes it. 

Reclaims his clothes haphazardly half on the couch, half on the floor. He really should start leaving clothes now that they were a regular thing. 

Passes a family photo of Daenerys as a child. She had wanted to throw it out, frame and all. But he had stopped her, told her it would be a reminder to not become like her brother. 

In the bedroom, he drops his clothes on her bed, undresses while moving. Stops at the bathroom door hears the hot and swift rush of water.

His blood runs at the thought of her. Jorah pushes open the door, finds her nude and under the full force of the shower head. She'd left the shower door open for him, skin sodden wet, hair plastered down to her head and cheeks red. A scent of zingy citrus in the air, a foaming loofah in her hands. 

“Gods.” He moans, Jorah steps under the spray and howls in pain. His skin feels like it's on for, a bucket of liquid fire was thrown over his neck and shoulders.

“What is it?” She rushes to his side, concerned, she reaches out her her damp palms touch his face. 

“It's bloody hot, that's what.” He answers and she dials back the hot tap and turns the knob until it's in the cooler blue zone. 

Her eyes are wide, mortified. “Sorry, I did not realise.” 

Jorah turns her hands over in his and sure enough, her skin instead pocked and red as he is. Her cheeks are flushed and she plants a kiss on his face, pulls him under the warmer water with her and shows him just how sorry she feels.


End file.
